


Talk To Me

by ebbj9891



Series: In Quest Of Something [10]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Series, Relationship Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 08:08:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2302610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebbj9891/pseuds/ebbj9891
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brian has grown distant and Justin is struggling to understand why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talk To Me

**Author's Note:**

> I must confess, I'm terrible at writing things in the order they're supposed to go in. I should have posted this and Immersion a long time ago, but I got distracted by other things I wanted to write. So it works out that two of the earliest entries in this series are being posted very late in the piece... sorry about that! :)

Is it me?

That's what I've been wondering for the past three weeks. The past  _three fucking weeks._ That's how long Brian has been acting like a total asshole.

He's moody, he's distant, he's silent, and he's stubbornly refusing to let me in. The only time I feel close to him lately is when we're fucking, and even then, it's not the same. He's not all there. Since he's clearly using it as a distraction, I doubt he notices the disconnect between us. I wonder if he realises how excruciatingly painful it is to feel totally alone while your partner is fucking you.

What's really frustrating is that I can't, for the life of me, figure out what's bothering him. I know Brian like the back of my goddamned hand; ordinarily, I can figure out exactly what he needs, exactly what he wants. I can typically pinpoint (with a decent amount of accuracy) what's on his mind. But for the past three weeks, he's been a total mystery. I've lost my bearings. I have no idea what the fuck is going on.

Is it work? Is he missing Pittsburgh? Does he regret moving here? Is he fed up with me? Is he bored? Is he restless? Is this not working for him? Has the cancer showed signs of returning? Is it his fucked up family? Is it that he's missing Gus? _What the fuck is going on?_

Since I can't ask Brian, I ask Daph. I call her and heap all of my angsty questions on her, while she tries her best to reassure me. It doesn't work. I can hear myself whining, and I resent myself for it, but I'm past the point where I can stop myself. Pitifully, I complain, "You don't understand. You don't know what he's been like. You're not here."

Daph sighs. "No, I'm not there. You are, though. So why don't you talk to him?"

"I've tried."

"Bullshit," she retorts. "You so haven't! Don't lie to me, Justin Taylor." _  
_

I rest my head on the kitchen island and moan down the phone, "He wouldn't listen, anyway."

"How do you know unless you try?"

"I can't."

"Why not?"

When I don't respond for a while, she calls my name gently. I take a deep breath and decide to confess - after all, if I can't be honest with Daph, then what's the point?

"He moved here for me. He's paying for almost everything. I still owe him a shitload of money from my PIFA tuition... everything I have right now, I have because of him. I don't want to sound ungrateful."

In the background, a page comes over the hospital PA system for Daph. She sighs and apologises. "I have to go - my break's up, apparently."

"It's okay," I say, even though it isn't. Long distance with Daph is almost as hard as it was with Brian.

"Love you," she says, and then the line goes dead. I stare at my phone for what feels like forever, willing her to call back, willing Brian to call, willing myself to do  _something_ constructive, rather than doing what I'm doing now: pissing the day away angsting about Brian. 

Eventually, I pick myself up and figure out a game plan. It's the same game plan I've been following for the past three weeks. It hasn't accomplished shit in that time, but who knows? Maybe tonight will be the night it sees results.

*

As it turns out, I'm right. When Brian arrives home from work, results are immediately seen - just not in the way I'd been expecting. He takes one look at the dinner I've made for us, throws his briefcase on the floor, and snarls, "The grovelling shit stops right now."

I stare at him, startled by the anger in his voice. He's glaring at me, which is a far cry from how he looked when he left this morning - all stony and vacant. Bewildered, I say, "Excuse me?" 

"This," he snaps, gesturing to the meal I've laid out on the dining table. "Fucking quit it. If you want to do something for me, try talking to me."

"Try talking to you?" The first time I repeat it, I hear the words coming out quite calmly. The second time... not so much. " _Try talking to you?_ Are you fucking kidding me?!"

Brian stares at me and shrugs, as though he's inviting me to tear into him. Well, I'm certainly not going to decline the invitation, so I go for it. "You have been silent and distant and a  _total asshole_ for almost a month, and I'm the one who needs to try talking?"

His eyes narrow and he says icily, "I called Daphne today."

Shit. Fuck. I know what's coming next - oh, goddamnit, I am going to  _kill_ Daph when I see her next.

"We've been talking lately," Brian says, grabbing one of the dining chairs and pulling it out roughly so he can throw himself into it moodily, "About your birthday. Making plans, you know? So I call her today and she tells me that you're upset, and that you don't feel like you can talk to me, and that  _apparently,_ since I'm 'paying for everything', you don't want to 'sound ungrateful'."

He glares at me furiously. I can feel a flush creeping up my face. Brian starts pouring himself a drink, aggressively so, and demands, "What the  _fuck,_ Justin? How fucking clear do I have to make it? All of this, everything we have here, this is  _ours._ When I started paying for the studio, I thought of it as  _paying for the studio._ It wasn't fucking hush money!"

"I know that!"

"Well, clearly, you don't!" Brian sighs sharply and takes a drink. Then, in an utterly condescending tone, he asks, "Why don't you grow a pair and tell me what's on your mind?"

I suspect he's trying to rile me up. He knows that if he riles me up, I'll get pissed off, and I'll 'open up' - AKA, tear the fuck into him. Even though I know this is probably what he's aiming for, and even though I know I should resist it, I still fall for it. "What's on my mind? What's on my mind is that you are a total piece of shit. You're doing what you always do - something's bothering you, so you shut down and shut me out. Do you have any idea how much I hate that?"

"No," Brian snaps. "I don't have any goddamned idea. Because you won't man up and talk to me about it."

"Why don't you fucking man up? Stop acting like an overgrown child and talk to me about what's bothering you. I know something's wrong. I know you're hiding it from me. It really fucking hurts, you know that?"

His stoic expression falters momentarily. He looks surprised by that. I pick him up on it immediately: "What, does that seriously surprise you? That it hurts me when you pull away and treat me like I'm a stranger or, worse, a burden?"

Brian's gaze drops downwards. I continue glaring at him, hoping that he can feel it boring into him. "And by the way, asshole, it's not 'grovelling' when I cook for you. I enjoy doing it. At least, I did. But since you hate it so much, I won't do it anymore!"

Predictably, he remains silent. It's fucking infuriating. I grab my phone (Daphne is about to be on the receiving end of several brutal texts for being such a traitorous tattletale) and leave him sitting there alone like the stubborn asshole he is.

*

"What are you doing in here?"

"Did you actually think I was going to come to bed with you tonight?" I glare at Brian as he stands in the doorway of the guestroom staring at me. "You told me to 'grow a pair' and 'man up'. Well, done and done - I don't want to be anywhere near you tonight, so I'm staying in here."

He steps into the room. I tell him to fuck off, but he ignores me and approaches the bed. I focus all of my attention on my sketchbook, ignoring him as he sits down next to me, settling against the plush headboard. 

"Justin," he says, in that gentle tone that typically indicates he's ready to communicate.

"Brian," I retort snarkily, in a tone that indicates I'm not. I'm fully aware I sound like a child, but fuck it - he's been treating me like one, so why not act like one? I'm sorely tempted to leave him out in the cold for the next three weeks, just so he knows how goddamned much it hurts.

He leans over and peers at my sketchbook. "Looks good."

"It looks like shit because you're distracting me."

Ignoring my cold rebuttal, Brian props his chin on my shoulder. I can't help but let him - it's the first real affection I've seen from him in weeks and I'm starving for it. I even find myself leaning in a little closer to him, and immediately, he tilts his head and kisses my arm.

I turn to him and say, quietly but firmly, "I don't want to solve this with sex."

"Me neither," he says. I struggle to believe that, though, considering how he's nuzzling my neck and stroking my thigh. 

Squirming away from his advances, I insist, "I want you to talk to me."

Brian sighs, and presses his forehead against my arm. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you."

Is that what the last three weeks were supposed to serve as - a  _warning?_ Before I can get angry at him all over again, he pulls away and rearranges himself so he's lying on his back, arms behind his head, staring moodily at the ceiling. I turn on my side and watch him carefully. Brian closes his eyes and announces sullenly, "I lost Andrew today. He left for another agency."

"What?!" For a moment, I seriously wonder if I heard him right - Andrew can't have left. He's been with Kinnetik since its inception.

Brian's lip curls. "He's gone. I've been fighting for him for weeks - fuck knows why - but he was never going to stay. He's been using me since we opened the Manhattan branch."

He says that sometimes - 'we'. _We_ opened the Manhattan branch. _We_ grew Kinnetik to what it is today. Whenever he says it, it's crystal clear who he means - it's not just him and Cynthia, him and Ted, him and his team. He means the two of us, him and me. Hearing it now is immeasurably comforting. It's also comforting that he's here, next to me, trying his best to patch things up, when he could have easily jumped ship. Softening more and more by the second, I ask, "What do you mean?"

"I promoted him, I moved him here, I treated him like fucking royalty..." Brian sighs. I reach out and start stroking his arm, which seems to relax him a little. "He never intended to stay with us. He's been approaching other agencies -  _bigger_ agencies - for months now. He got them interested, pitted them against each other, and weeded out the best one. Then he came to me and gave me an ultimatum: best their offer, or he's gone."

"Is that even-"

Brian opens his eyes and smiles at me, humorlessly. "He waited until just the right moment - timed it perfectly. I've had legal look at his contract six times over and, unfortunately, he's well within his rights to do this. And since Andrew is the best, I decided to try and fight for him. I've put Ted through the wringer for it, too; he's spent weeks trying to figure out how we can accomodate Andrew's ridiculous demands. And figure it out we did... I made him a better offer, and you know what that slimy fucker did? He went back to the other agency and leveraged it into a better offer from them - one which I can't possibly compete with, because I'm still a tiny fucking fish in a huge pond."

"You're not tiny," I laugh, squeezing his arm. "You're a gigantic fucking success."

He turns on his side, meeting my gaze. "I'm a fucking goldfish compared to them. A successful goldfish, but a goldfish nonetheless."

"Well, Andrew is scum. You don't need someone like that working for you."

"I need a creative director. The team I've got, they're still finding their feet. We're working out kinks. They need leadership." Brian smiles at me again, but with more warmth this time. "I was going to ask you if you would step in, but... I know you want to make your own way. I want you to, as well. And I know you have your art to focus on."

"My art," I echo, snorting softly. 

"Yeah, your art." Brian frowns. "Your  _raison d'être,_ I do believe."

"My _raison d'être_ it may well be, but it's kind of at a standstill."

"I thought you were working on commissions?"

"A few," I shrug. "There's been a lull, lately. I don't know. Anyway, I'm available."

Brian places his hand on my hip and caresses gently. "It would only be for a little while. A month, maybe two?"

"Sounds good." I ease closer to him, which brings a smile to his face again. "I could use a change of scenery. And since I enjoy working for you, Mr. Kinney, you don't need to pay me."

"I'm fairly sure I do, Taylor, unless you want me hauled away for violating labor laws." Laughing, he leans in closer and whispers, "I don't think they let fags have conjugal visits, Sunshine. We'd never make it."

"Fine," I laugh, "In light of that, you can pay me. But it all goes towards this."

I gesture around us. "If you keep paying for the studio, I'll keep covering the groceries _and_ I'll cover the bills for a while. Deal?"

Brian holds his hand out for me to shake. As I grasp it, he agrees, "Deal."

I study him, comparing the Brian before me now to the Brian from this morning. This one is here with me,  _properly_ here with me. I kiss him, feeling him draw me close, feeling him sinking into it, feeling him trying to kiss it all better.

It works.

*

"There's something else," Brian says, his admission laced with guilt. We're midway through a very late dinner; it's past midnight, in fact, but the make-up sex proved time-consuming. There's still more to come - we promised each other that - but we agreed to break for dinner first. We've foregone formalities and are eating in bed, which is proving most enjoyable. Even better, it's our bed, not the guest bed, and for the first time in weeks we're not isolated from each other on opposite sides of it. Brian is sitting right next to me, his leg flush against mine, one arm draped around me, his hand toying with my hair. This is somehow proving even more healing than all the make-up sex.

Curious as to what this 'something else' might be, I look at him expectantly. He gazes back at me with trepidation and admits, "I don't want children."

"Do you want me to break the bad news to Gus, or...?"

He smirks at me. "Yeah, just be sure to tell him it's not him, it's me."

"Shall I tell him you still want to be friends?"

"Eh," Brian pulls a face, "Don't get his hopes up."

As I laugh, Brian swoops in and kisses me. This one is demanding, almost desperate, and I think this one is supposed to reassure him rather than me. When he breaks away, he seems to gather himself, and then admits, "Gus is it for me. I've been thinking about this for a while, and I don't see myself ever wanting more children."

It's not just his words that are laced with guilt now; his expression is swimming in it - drowning, even. Quietly, he says, "I probably should have said something sooner but, as I've certainly proven over the past three weeks, I'm not the best at this whole... communication thing."

"This whole communication thing," I repeat, laughing a little. He makes it sound so inconsequential. I don't know if I should find that as funny as I do, but there's something amusing about it. Endearing, too, in a strange way. I take his hand in mine and squeeze it. "Don't worry. I don't want children either."

Brian rolls his eyes. "You don't know that."

"Sure I do."

"You're twenty-three," he says, quite sternly. "I didn't want children at twenty-three. I didn't want a relationship, either, and look where I am now."

"Stuck with me and Gus?" I supply, smiling brightly at him.

"Stuck with you and Gus," he chuckles. "Thank fuck for that. My point is, you might feel differently one day."

I'm done with dinner, and he is too, so I set our plates aside and slip into his lap. Brian smiles and settles his hands on my hips. I can't believe he's been shouldering this burden alone - Andrew's betrayal and its aftermath, worrying that I'd leave him again over potentially incompatible futures. No wonder he's been so miserable. Seeking to reassure him, I thread my fingers through his hair and murmur, "I know what I want. I want to be a great artist. I want to be with you. These are things I've wanted for  _years -_ I'm not giving up on either."

"You'd make a great father," he says softly. "I don't want you sacrificing that just so we can be together. I want you to really think about this, okay? Really think about what you want."

"I'll do that," I agree, "On one condition."

Brian arches a brow at me inquiringly. Stroking his hair, I say, "Talk to me. If you're having a shit time at work, if you need something from me, if there's something bothering you... talk to me. We've been in each other's lives for six years. Isn't that long enough that we should be better at this whole... communication thing?"

He snorts. "I suppose so."

"I know so," I say cockily, grinning at him as he laughs. "You said to man up and grow a pair. Here I am, manning up, growing a pair, and telling you what I need. Talk to me, Bri."

"I'll try," he says, and it sounds like a promise. "You do the same - if I'm upsetting you, tell me. And  _don't_ worry about the money. When I said what's mine is yours, I meant it. Try and get that through your head, okay?"

Nodding, I promise in return, "Okay, I'll try."

"Good," he says, firmly. "Oh, and don't be mad at Daphne."

"That traitor?" I sigh and lie down, smiling at Brian wraps himself around me, pressing his chest to my back. "She shouldn't have been gossiping with you."

"She was being honest with me," he murmurs, kissing the space between my shoulder-blades. "Since that's hardly a talent of ours, it's probably a good thing that we have Daphne to bridge the gap."

"Hmmph," I grumble as he tugs the blankets over us. "I guess it did help, on this particular occasion."

To be fair, Daph's unique fusion of meddling and matchmaking  _always_ helps, but I'm not quite willing to give her the full credit she deserves at this particular moment. As Brian coils his arms more tightly around me, I tease, "It did get you out of your mood, after all. You haven't spooned me in weeks."

"This isn't spooning," he scoffs, spitting out 'spooning' like it's a dirty word. That's saying something, considering there are very few words Brian perceives as dirty.

"Sorry. Cuddling."

"This  _isn't_ cuddling."

I crane my head and glance down at our interwoven limbs. "What would you call it?"

After a moment of deliberation, he mumbles, "Moderately affectionate close physical proximity."

"Moderately affectionate close physical proximity," I echo, grinning. Brian hums in agreement. I burrow deeper into his embrace. "Well, whatever we're calling it, I love it. I'm glad you're back."

He kisses the nape of my neck and hugs me close. "Glad to be back."

**The End**


End file.
